 | Sixteen Sonnets |  |
12
SONNET XII. Written at a Farm.
Around my Porch and lowly Casement spread,The Myrtle never-sear, and gadding Vine,
With fragrant Sweet-Briar love to intertwine;
And in my Garden's box-encircled bed,
The Pansie pied, and Musk-Rose white and red,
The Pink and Tulip, and Honied Woodbine,
Fling odours round; the flaunting Eglantine
Decks my trim fence, 'neath which, by silence led,
The Wren hath wisely plac'd her mossy cell;
And, far from noise, in courtly land so rife,
Nestles her young to rest, and warbles well.
Here in this safe retreat and peaceful glen
I pass my sober moments, far from Men;
Nor wishing Death too soon, nor asking Life.
| Sixteen Sonnets | |